


Realmheart: The Byrruk

by tlarn



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22020370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tlarn/pseuds/tlarn
Summary: A lost continent, the cradle of the world abandoned by man and overrun by monsters, has finally been breached. A scholar begins her journey to the old world, to learn more of the people who not only live on this deadly continent, but thrive.
Kudos: 1





	Realmheart: The Byrruk

> _ Here begins the log of Taldrie Monceolbe, royal magister. _
> 
> _ Long ago, our ancestors lived in a continent far from our own. What remains of our records from that era states that it was a lush place.  _
> 
> _ Crops and livestock flourished. _
> 
> _ People were rarely sick, and recovered quickly. _
> 
> _ Homes were always warm, and sturdily built. _
> 
> _ Children lived to adulthood, and were never hungry. _
> 
> _ The exact details of what happened to this supposed utopia were lost to time as our ancestors fled. Those who took to the eastern sea would establish a nation soon to be become our kingdom of Ralbarna, and those who traveled by land northward would become our rival, Bonnafeu. _
> 
> _ The sister nations fought for centuries since, one war after another for resources and land. But, there was an unspoken agreement between the two: neither should ever venture south, for only ruin waited in the old world. _
> 
> _ This changed with the coronation of our current monarch, King Swent. Upon his rise to the throne, he decreed that he would do what his predecessors did not dare to do: go back to the old world, and retake our ancestral homeland. _
> 
> _ Over the decades, many voyages tried and failed to reach the old world. Few would make the return, with tales of perilous seas and shores teeming with creatures and monstrosities unknown to them. It looked as if trying to return was folly. _
> 
> _ Our king, however, did not relent. In time, a colony was established along the northern shore of the continent, where the beasts of the old world didn’t reach. It was there that they discovered that there were still people living in the old world, to the rest of the world’s amazement. _
> 
> _ The colony benefited from their partnership with the natives. They learned how to farm with the soil, what to forage and what to hunt, and how to defend themselves from the creatures that claimed the lives of so many pioneers. _
> 
> _ Sea routes were mapped, settlements established along islands, and travel between Ralbarna and the old world became safe enough that a scholar such as myself could go on a voyage, with the mission of learning more about the people who stayed behind. _
> 
> _ As I watch the distant shore come closer by the hour, I must admit that much of what I know of them comes from fiction, stories told to children before bed. I only have these few facts from reports that came back. _
> 
> _ The people call themselves the Tanam, and they call their home Nirhali. _

* * *

  
  


From the bow of the ship, a woman in a formal dress watched as the crew buzzed about the deck, rigging and pulling lines as they approached the dock, furling sails and preparing rope for the moors. From experience, she knew she was mostly out of the way where she stood. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from pacing back and forth. The excitement of her goal just in front of her was coupled with the need to stretch her legs, and to put as much distance between the ship she spent so many long weeks on and herself. To feel something other than hot sea air, smell something other than salt and half-rotted fish, eat something other than dried meats, stale bread, and a single kind of fruit. 

When the planks were set down for disembarking, the woman practically leapt onto the dock, and broke into a run toward the harbor. The construction was enormous, piers and ships as far as she could see, all bringing in or loading cargo as quickly as they could. Some ships remained afloat in the sea as they waited for an open dock. She took some of her smaller luggage with her, including leather cases hanging from her shoulders and several bags under each arm. The sailors knew what to do with the rest.

She flew down the wooden gangways and through the gate, dodging workers, merchants, and guards, offering a quick apology to whoever she’d bump into. Besides watching for people around her, her eyes were everywhere else. The stone roads and wood buildings were a surprise. When she thought ‘colony,’ she expected homely huts and fields of crops spanning the horizon. The fields were there: it was hard not to see them on the approach from the sea. But the buildings ranged from small homes to multi-level storehouses, and were solidly built in a rustic, uniquely Ralbarnan style.

As she entered a large center square, free of taller buildings blocking her sight, she was struck by the size of the walls that encircled the colony. High and robust, made with a mix of thick wood and mortar with fortifications of iron, it was comparable to the defenses of a military fort. She thought it looked imposing when she was at sea, but now that she was surrounded by them, there was an almost oppressive sense of safety.

This wasn’t some hamlet, shacks in the dirt and muddy villagers ferrying cattle between pastures. It was a full-fledged city, a true center of trade in the southern sea, and a stepping-stone between the king’s ambitions and the mysterious old world. To see the results of her people’s efforts coming to fruition gave her a measure of pride.

An hour of twisting around crowds and apologizing later, and the woman found her way into the central district of the colony. Another wall kept it separate from the rest of the settlement. From the look of it, it was older construction, plastered over in places to give it a cleaner appearance. Perhaps this was the original confines before expansion, she thought. The buildings inside, however, were fit for aristocracy. Fine columns and facades dotted with gardens of flowers marked the centers of government and other important facilities in the colony, while gilded doors and shining windows made plain the residences.

A guard by the gate of one stately establishment raised his hand to the woman as she approached. “Hold, ma’am. State your business.”

She responded with muffled mumbling, adjusting her luggage. She held a bound book between her teeth. The book wiggled as she gestured to him, and after some hesitation he plucked it.

“Thank you,” the woman said. “I’m here on business with Sir Gulroze. If you could be so kind as to allow me an audience so that I may speak with him?”

“And what sort of business are we talking about?”

“It’s all in the book, if you’d kindly open it.”

“What? She’s already here?”

A guardsman tipped his head towards an older man wearing fine clothes and jewelry, hair thinned into a drastic widow’s peak.

“Yes, sir, magister Monceolbe has arrived on business.”

“She wasn’t due to arrive for another few months. Just what’s gotten in her head this time?”

“According to her, she couldn’t bear to wait that long.”

“That impatient little... Bah, it’s too late now. Let her in.” The man waved a dismissive hand.

A servant waiting by the door pulled the handle. The woman waited just past the door. She had an exaggerated smile on her face, straining ear to ear. In one hand was a leather case with a strap for a handle. The rest of the luggage was left at the door.

“It is so wonderful to see you, Gulroze!” magister Monceolbe said in the most honeyed tone she could muster as she walked in. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Oh please, don’t worry, I’m quite used to guests arriving at my doorstep long before I expect them,” the man muttered. “Please, have a seat. Help yourself to a drink.”

The woman tensed. “Aha, hah, I’m really so sorry to show up in such short notice, but I couldn’t-”

“Yes, yes, I’ve been informed already. Your reputation of doing what you please when the fancy hits you precedes itself. I suppose you come to me for accomodations? From the looks, and the smell of it, you’ve only disembarked today.”

Her pale hands tightened around the strap of one of her bags. She had tried to clean up before her audience with the local nobility heading the city. She changed to her royal uniform on the ship, taking great care to work out as many wrinkles as she could manage. She ran her fingers and comb through her long black hair until she felt hairs pulling from her scalp. She worked a cloth along her spectacles until they were mostly clear of dust and oil. There was no time or place to change shoes, only to clean off what she could from her boots. She ‘acquired’ some perfume from a passing merchant offering samples of fragrances for richer folk. She thought she looked cleaned up enough if she could fool someone trying to fleece a noble out of their money.

Not enough to get past Gulroze, though.

“Ah, uh, yes. I’m here for accomodations.”

“Then I’m to take it that you at least notified the steward in charge of providing said accommodations ahead of time that you’d be arriving this early?”

“Yes, I left a letter for her the week before. If I understood it correctly, there would be a villa and an assistant to help me with my work.”

Gulroze tried to look unfazed, reclining and pouring a golden-brown liquor into a tumbler from a nearby glass decanter. “I’m sure there would be, if you followed protocol. The situation as it is now, I don’t see why I should be responsible for such.”

“I, err, I suppose I’ll have to find something else, then.”

“Yes, you suppose correctly. Once you’ve gotten yourself settled in, we can talk about your work.”

“Of course!”

“Of course.”

A silence hung between the two of them. Gulroze only noticed she was still standing in his chamber when he finished his drink.

“What’s the matter? Shouldn’t you be off to find yourself a place?”

Magister Monceolbe fidgeted. “There is, ehm, a matter of finances, sir Gulroze.”

“... You have no money.”

“Not a coin.”

“You paid out of pocket for your trip.”

“I-- I told you, I couldn’t wait.”

“And you need a loan to tide yourself over until the funds for your research trip actually arrives, because you didn’t give your steward enough time to even give a response.”

She bowed. “If you please!”

Gulroze rubbed his temples, hand dragging down and pulling at his face. He poured himself more gold-brown liquor, and took a long drink. When she was a child, those drooping puppy-dog eyes were endearing: almost adorable. Now, they were grating. “What are we going to do with you, Taldrie.”

Her head shot up, though she still bowed. “Sir, my title is-”

“I’ll refer to you as magister when you start acting like it, miss Monceolbe. I’ll give you some funds so that you’re not sleeping in some sailor’s cot out of charity. Now, be off already. And, welcome to  New Vecona.”

* * *

It was nearly sundown by the time Taldrie found herself lodgings. Once she closed the door to her impromptu accommodation, she threw down her bags in a huff onto the simple bed with basic linens.

Gulroze gave her money, but it was nowhere near enough to afford someplace to her liking and still have enough for any other expense. If she went with her first choice, there wouldn’t be enough left to cover her palm. She’d have to ask for another advance in order to feed herself.

She walked for the afternoon asking people where she could stay with what she had on hand, and she had been given the run-around by a few. Each place looked more run down than the last, until she settled on the cheapest she could stomach. In the end, she ended where she started: a tavern by the harbor, with a window facing the ocean in all its salty glory. In the floors below, it was growing rowdier by the second. The workday had ended, and workers and sailors alike were stopping in for food and alcohol.

She let out her frustrations on the straw-filled pillow, beating her thin knuckles against it. That damned uncle Gulroze wasn’t going to get away with this disrespect, she thought to herself. Once I get my research done, I’ll add a scathing note about him at the beginning and end of the report!

Taldrie let out a long sigh and fell into the mattress, face first into the former target of her aggression. It was a rough start, but now was the time to focus on the important part. 

It was an early start. Now that she was here, ahead of schedule, she could get much more done before she had to return. Gulroze didn't understand. A few extra months could be a boon in the end. Thinking of all the extra stories and culture she’d record with more time to build rapport with the natives was lifting her spirits. Now, she needed only find a guide, or someone to help her meet the Tanam.

She decided to end her day on a high note, or at least a familiar note. She reached into a bag and dug through it, producing a thick leatherbound book. She traced her fingers along the embossed lettering on the hard cover:  _ The Collected Adventures of Wayfarer Terna, Fourth Edition _ . Inside were short stories written by a long-since-passed author whose work she adored as a child. Though she was already in her twenties, there were some stories she couldn't stop enjoying.

She curled up on her bed and flipped straight to one story in particular. She couldn't tell how many times she's had this story read to her or read it herself. It was the tale of the heroine, Terna, and her first encounter with the people of the old world. The metals their tools were made from was described by the author as mythical, and the technology they wielded was unlike anything seen in the two kingdoms. 

Reportedly, the author Elsi diNuoth wrote these stories after her extended encounters with the old world during expeditions with travelers, long before King Swent was born. When the rush to situate a colony revealed the dangers she faced, it was considered by scholars and critics that it was impossible for such stories to be factually based on anything. She and her family couldn’t offer comment, either; the finding was made nearly a century after she passed away.

Taldrie sighed sadly as she flipped through the familiar pages. She would’ve loved to meet Elsi, ask her all the questions every other fan of her work wanted to ask. But, the popularity of her stories only came well after she died. A publishing company managed to keep ahold of the stories, and when there was news that an expedition successfully settled in the old world, they reprinted her works. They haven’t been out of print since.

Something always bothered her about this turn of events. In life, her stories were published in many venues, but the reaction to her work was mild. The old world was a fine setting for her fantasy stories, but they seemed farfetched to readers. Now, someone else was profiting from her work. Elsi had no children, so no family today could claim the funds.

She would’ve loved for one of her favorite authors to see how beloved her stories are now.

As she got to the harrowing fable of Terna and her compatriot battling a three-headed serpent, the early stirrings of a brawl echoed past her door. The wood planks beneath her creaked and rattled.

* * *

Just a short walk from the harbor was the main market, carts and stalls as far as she could see. Vegetables and fruit she didn’t recognize, all unknown shapes and colors, furs and pelts from animals she could only imagine. The next week was spent cataloging what she could. The scholar was of the opinion that the best way to observe is through complete immersion.

The food was the worst of it, the tantalizing aroma wafting along the sea breeze. She clutched her coinpurse tight, not to protect it from pickpockets but to stop herself from spending. Until her funding arrived and accomodations are made, she had to be frugal.

With her resolve affirmed, she moved along with the crowd to view what was on offer today. She’d try to speak to the merchants, but they were busy with their customers. When she stayed too long trying to jot something down, the stall owner would less-than-politely ask her to move along. When the owner was patient, it was the crowd that got her moving.

Taldrie looked down at today’s acquisition. Half-finished drawings, quickly scrawled words, conversations finished partway through. For others, this would’ve been disheartening. She, however, was ecstatic. There was no way for her to tell which items were offered year-round and which were seasonal, but something among what she recorded had to be offered only around this time of year. All she had to do was keep at it.

She knew she needed more, though. Everything she had recorded so far was from inside the colony, observing the markets and the ships as goods were exchanged and processed. In the shadow of the walls, everything was safe and controlled, easily and readily available for consumption.

She needed more. This served as a good foundation for her report, but it wasn’t what she was here for. She needed to make contact with the Tanam. Not one had appeared in the colony, though, as far as she was aware. When she asked around on such, she found out that the natives rarely come to the colony; only a handful would come every few weeks, to trade and gather supplies. To see one of the Tanam in the market was even rarer; they generally kept to the worker’s district to exchange for what they wanted directly, to avoid being saddled with coinage.

The magister cursed her assumption that the market would be the focus of her work. Now she knew better.

Here was where much of the labor and toil which kept the colony running was done. Fishermen brought their catches to be sold to fishmongers, crops were cleaned and processed. Brick chimneys and metal flues from distant factories billowed with smoke by the hour. It was only slightly less congested than the market, and the smell of fish was replaced with the unmistakable scents of industry.

It was interesting to see the plants when they were just freshly picked. There was one she recognized immediately, a staple export for mainland Ralbarna tied into bales, and the chief reason the colony was established.

Sweetcane. A long reed with bands of brown and green, growing tall enough to rise over the most robust wheat and corn. Before its discovery, Ralbarna’s sugar was chiefly made from beets and bees’ honey. However, explorers found this miracle crop in a neighboring land, and searched for suitable places to grow it. That this land in the old world discovered by a different explorer also happened to be a perfect place for sweetcane to take root could only be serendipity. Indeed, sweetcane was the major reason the colony had exploded in size and profitability.

An old woman with rough hands and a stooped stature offered a small reed cut into quarters to Taldrie as she noticed her scribbling. Taldrie accepted, and followed the woman’s instruction to try chewing it.

While the tough, fibrous outside made it difficult, the white interior felt as if it was melting in her mouth. The sweetness of it was like eating sugar all on its own. The old woman laughed; Taldrie couldn’t stop herself from smiling, or her jaw from working away.

In another niche of the district, the butchers and tanners plied their trade. Cattle and animals hunted outside the walls were brought in, hides removed and meat cleaved and cleaned. Her nose wrinkled. It was unlike anything else Taldrie had experienced before, an ever-hanging musk of wet copper and meat.

She endured it, frantically noting how knives sliced along certain joints, how easily some fur pelts were pulled away as if they were clothes the animal was wearing. She was here to try to meet the Tanam, but couldn’t help but watch all the things she, as someone from a more gentle upbringing, never had the chance to see up close.

It was common sense that the steaks and ham her family enjoyed were once from living animals, but to see it up close was illuminating, if somewhat unsettling.

A crowd was forming around one of the district entrances. Men and women stopped, laying down their tools to have a look. Taldrie only noticed when the current subject of an interview decided their time was better spent elsewhere.

The crowd was gathering around a cart pulled by a stocky wooly bull, horns wide and high, hoofsteps heavy against the cobbled road. Taldrie thought that would be everyone’s focus, and had her pen ready. Their collective gaze went past it, and fell on the 

She thought at first it was a heap of black furs, all the same color and texture. It was only as it drew closer that she realized it was all a single piece, and still attached to something. She once again tried to weave her way through for a closer look, but the people in this district were having none of it. All of them were able-bodied and strong. One after another were shouting offers to the driver.

“I’ll give you fifty ryl for it!”

“Seventy-five, and another twenty-five for the fur!”

“One hundred twenty ryl for the whole of it!”

The tall dark-skinned driver, patiently directing the bull down the street, kept her attention ahead, only speaking up when someone was coming too close to her beast. Even seated, she was a giant. Broad-shouldered and muscular, she wore a mix of furs and leather secured with cord and buckles, in a style that Taldrie only recognized as not Ralbarnan. Light brown eyes under thick brows shimmered with amusement.

“Back off, back off I said!” an older stout woman shouted, waving a cleaver around in the air. “That kill’s already accounted for! Shove off, you vultures!”

The workers quieted down, slowly dispersing after having one last ogle of the beast before returning to their tasks.

The woman smoothed her leather apron. “Damned scalpers, trying to get my take out from under my nose. Phwah, but you’ve certainly outdone yourself this time. Look at the size of it. You even managed to keep the pelt intact this time. The last one was cut to ribbons.”

The rider hopped off the front seat, patting the obedient bull as she passed. “I told you already, old hag, the last time it was their mating season. Most of those cuts were from males.”

“Child, I know claw marks when I see them, and too many of them looked like they were made by an axe. You were sloppy the last time.”

“Have you really not let it go all?”

“Course I haven’t. But you finally learned your lesson, didn’t you? I can actually pay you a decent amount for this one.”

“Speaking of payment,” the rider said, crossing her arms.

“Right, right, come on into the workshop and I’ll get your compensation-”

“Excuse me!”

The two turned around to see a woman in a neat black dress. A small book was open in one hand, pen in the other. As soon as she had their attention, she gestured to the dead creature. “Sorry to bother you two, but could you tell me what this is?”

“Huh? You mean you don’t recognize a byrruk when you see one?” the old hag exclaimed.

“No, I’ve never heard of it,” Taldrie said without a pause. “Could you tell me about it? Where does it live? How does it live? What does it eat? Why does it get so big?”

“Pah, a tourist. Move along, girl, you’re going to get in people’s way. Now, your payment-”

“Byrruks live further southeast, past the first set of forests,” the rider cut in. “It’s a predator, hunts down other animals with its strength. Usually tries to ambush, but it’ll charge if it’s starving, or angry. It gets to this size a few years after it’s born, but they get bigger than this.”

As Taldrie’s pen rushed across paper, the woman in the leather apron huffed. “I thought you wanted to get this done quickly.”

“And I thought you were done calling people ‘girl,’ old hag Zaizah.”

“...You haven’t let that go, huh, girl.”

The rider smirked.

Zaizah’s crew rushed out to retrieve the dead animal. As they lashed ropes to move it, Taldrie managed to get a better look.

Ralbarna had its own menagerie to worry about. There were bears and wolves, as well as giant reptiles often mistaken for dragons. There were drakes and rocs, harpies and mountain trolls. Under the leadership of King Swent, such creatures have become a rarity, only appearing in force in the farthest frontiers of the kingdom. His push to ‘tame Ralbarnan soil once and for all’ led to many of these creatures being wiped out. Some enclosures were made to allow for exhibitions of live individuals, and the daring (and wealthy) were known to keep them as pets. A few were even stuffed and mounted in her family home.

But a byrruk was something else. Its size aside, its legs were thick with muscle, ending in curved claws long enough to encircle her neck. Its elongated head sported a maw that could eat a man whole. Two pairs of teeth extended past its lips like tusks, the points yellow and dull with wear. Two long, slender ears hung limp, though there was a luster to them that caught the light, as if well cared for. She fancied how they must have looked while it was alive, and how they would look on a headband or cap, perhaps a scarf. It’d make for an eye catching fashion statement. 

“What an intriguing thing,” Taldrie muttered, double-checking the claws’ curvature for her sketches.

The tall woman was silently cleaning off the cart, moving crates and securing them to the sides. The bull clopped the floor in his impatience.

“Ho there, we’re not heading out just yet. There’s still some stops to make.” She tugged on the reins once she took the seat, clicking her tongue.

The creaking of the wooden wheels caught Taldrie’s attention, and she ran to the cart’s side as quickly as her clothing and the crowd let her. “Ahh, wait, wait, miss! I still have some questions!”

The rider didn’t slow the cart. “Sorry, ma’am, but I’ve got too much work today to amuse a tourist.”

Taldrie’s eyebrows stitched, but loosened just as quickly. “That’s alright, I’ll just walk alongside! I just wanted to know more about the team that took down that bayrahk, and how they did it. Are you the leader, or a representative?”

“Byrruk, ma’am--”

“Please, my name is Taldrie. Taldrie Monceolbe, royal magister. I’m working with the court of the sciences to help build an encyclopedia about the old world and the people who live here. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, miss!” 

“Careful, don’t get too close to the cart.”

The cart turned to a busy street, heading back to the market. The throng of people filled the sides of the road to get out of the way of traffic. Taldrie, short and slight, had to fight to keep up with the rider, weaving between people in an attempt to keep pace.

“Hold on, please! You’re the first person I’ve seen from outside the colony and I’m in desperate need of outside help for the next stage of my research! I still don’t have anything on the Tanam!”

“And you’ll have plenty of opportunities to meet them on your own time,” the rider said with a quick snap of her hand.

As the cart pulled away, the magister was taken away by the flow of the crowd.  She couldn’t bring herself to use her elbows to shove her way through, nor did she have the frame for such. The moment the opportunity arose, she twisted into an alleyway between a brewery and bakery. The smell of fresh baked goods with a few wafts of cheap ale helped to calm her nerves, collect her thoughts.

She couldn’t let that woman go without some more questions. For the week she has been in New Vecona, not one opportunity had presented itself, despite her constant vigil. Did the Tanam not visit town during this season, or was it bad luck? Everyone she asked said that they saw them often, but not once did she notice someone that wasn’t Ralbarnan.

She flipped open her notebook and scrawled down the name of the rider, details of what she looked like, and the fact that she drove a giant bull. Some of the laborers were already getting tired of her, but she had to do one last round of footwork.

How hard could it be to find out more about someone like that?

* * *

The rider let out a long yawn as she directed the bull through the town streets to the front gate. The glint of dawn began to peek over the horizon. Workers were rousing and preparing breakfast, the smell of the baker’s fresh bread they woke up early to make filled the air. Getting together everything on the list this trip took more time than she liked. If the blacksmith hadn’t tried to haggle and short-change her, she would have concluded her business in town in a single day.

She looked over her shoulder, brushing some loose red hair behind her ear. The cart’s box was filled with cargo, crates and boxes of different sizes, tied down tight with ropes and straps and covered with a large white tarp. She smiled; someone will be happy to see all this.

The four wooden wheels groaned under the weight, the box teetering and bouncing over uneven cobblestone. Passersby dressed for the work day waved to the rider, who nodded back. A few of them still looked half-asleep, putting one foot in front of another.

As she rounded the corner to turn into the main thoroughfare, she saw someone beside the gatehouse. Beside them was the gate guardsman, who looked haggard as their guest kept talking to them. Behind the both of them was a pile of luggage.

The cart pulled closer, and the person heard the heavy clops of the bull’s hooves. She turned. It was a woman in a black official-looking uniform dress and knee-high boots, with a cap and feather atop her head.

“Ah, miss Bronagh, good morning!”

Her jaw tensed. Taldrie Monceolbe. “Morning, ma’am.”

“I was just speaking to this fine gentleman here while I waited for you to arrive.”

“Why were you waiting for me? Didn’t you say you needed to find some Tanam?”

“I am! You see, I’ve asked around, and I found out that you actually make trips between here and a nearby village. Sometimes you even help take people there, for a fee. I’m perfectly willing to pay if you’re willing to ferry me.”

The rider looked over to the guardsman. Or where he used to be. Somehow, in his equipment, he managed to sneak back into the gatehouse without the official noticing.

“Where did you hear that I do that? Or my name, for that matter.”

“Oh, Hadal the blacksmith is the one who recommended the service. He’s the one who introduced me to you.”

Bronagh took in a deep breath, and sighed. The blacksmith found his way of further inconveniencing her this time. “And what did he tell you about this service I offer?”

“That for fifty ryl, you could guarantee one’s safety between here and the village, and that you also offer a return service.”

“I do. Sorry to disappoint, but it’s been a while since I’ve offered that. And I certainly didn’t do it for fifty ryl.”

The magister wasn’t discouraged. “That’s fine with me. What’s your current rate?”

Bronagh raised an eyebrow at the question. She looked the official over. Her clothing had little wear, and was made of fine cloth. There was a small crest pinned onto a breast pocket, a hawk clutching a scroll in one claw and a crown in the other: likely hired directly under royalty. She had a good deal of luggage with her. She was expecting for this to work, and wouldn’t want to lug all of this back with her.

“Miss Bronagh?”

“It’s going to be five hundred ryl.”

Taldrie stood silent. The amount, said so suddenly, made her eyebrows raise up. “Five hundred?” she said with curiosity in her voice.

Bronagh didn’t relent. “Paid right now. Another five for the return trip.”

The surprise was more obvious now. “You want one thousand?”

The rider stroked a gloved hand through her unevenly cut hair. “The trip isn’t easy, ma’am. It gets dangerous once we get past the mountains, and I’m not in the habit of doing last-minute requests. You want to get to the village? I’m your best bet. Otherwise, you can walk.”

Bronagh smirked, already readying her hand to whip the reins.

The magister fished through her bags, and produced a purse. “Alright then!”

Her hand flinched. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ll pay for your service, miss Bronagh,” Taldrie said with a level voice.

“I thought I said you had to pay now-”

The magister pulled open the purse’s clasp and produced a handful of large gold-laced bank notes were in it, pressed and embossed with the heraldry of Ralbarna. “I apologize in advance, I only have large bills. I do have enough, though; I can even pay the full sum in advance, if you like!”

The rider boggled as she looked at the money the woman revealed so casually. She was walking around town with that kind of money on hand? That royal crest must’ve been the only thing protecting her from pickpockets.

She was hoping to discourage the woman by charging a ridiculous fee. She’d fallen out of offering to take people to the village when she saw how the constant trips overworked her bull, not to mention the constant demands of her customers. When richer folk caught wind of it, they’d demand to be taken off the path, to see for themselves what made this land so dangerous. It was decent money, but quickly became work that wasn’t worth the hassle or the headache.

Taldrie smiled patiently, waiting for a response.

With a defeated groan, Bronagh hopped down from the driver’s seat, hoisting one of the larger bags onto her shoulder. “Fine. Let’s get your luggage in the cart, ma’am.”

The magister clapped her hands together in delight. “Wonderful! Oh thank you so much, miss Bronagh. You have no idea how much of a service you’ve done for my work.”

Bronagh raised her palm up, a few inches from the magister’s nose. “ First things first, ma’am. From now on, it’s my rules until we hit the village. We’re staying on the path I decide, I won’t make detours on your request. I’ll only make stops when I need to, not because you’d like to take a closer look at something. Find yourself a steady seat; it may only take a day, but if we’re lucky we’ll reach the village before dusk. Enjoy the scenery.”

The request lasted one hour. 

It started with Taldrie sitting quietly in the driver’s seat beside Bronagh, content with the view of the swaying crops in the sun, morning dew catching the light. Her hands busily sketched the sights into her journal. Black ink staining the side of her pinkie, she wrote with such speed that the ink didn’t have a chance to dry. 

When she had her fill, the magister started to fidget, worsening every few minutes. The questions were buzzing in her head and itching to be spoken. She looked up to the rider, who dwarfed her in stature in every respect. Her hands stayed busy with her journal, sketching what she saw.

Steely eyes kept their gaze forward, only glancing to the sides and behind occasionally, paying special attention to the treeline of forests beyond the farms. Her clay red hair was cut short, but still wild; it waved, curled, and kinked in whatever direction it wanted, gusts of wind picking up locks that then fell to rest how it pleased. The rider didn’t seem to mind if her hair was in front of her face. Something like that would drive me mad, the magister thought.

Now that she had the opportunity to see Bronagh up close, her attire was nothing she was familiar with. The belts across her chest kept the leather close to her body. Underneath her fur cloak on her back was some kind of harness, meant to hold something large and heavy. There were more straps along major joints, such as her hands and knees, while fur-trimmed gloves kept her hands protected. The palms looked worn down--

“Something the matter?”

Taldrie nearly jumped out of her seat, scratching a long line of ink onto her train of thought in the journal. “A-ah, sorry. It’s just that I've never seen this kind of clothing before. No-one where’s anything like this in Ralbarna.”

The rider shrugged. “You can ask instead of stare. All it is is hunting gear.” A gloved hand gestured to belts and straps. “All this does is keep it tight. If it’s loose, it makes noise and snags.”

“Shouldn’t you loosen it if you’re in town, then?”

“I only loosen it when I’m back home. I suppose I’ve gotten used to it, too.”

“And, where do you live, miss Bronagh?”

“In the village we’re heading to, Sanshe. It’s the closest one to New Vecona, so the trip isn’t too long.”

Taldrie beamed. “Then, could I ask about your name? It’s interesting that your given name would be Ralbarnan.”

Bronagh’s brow tensed. “Given name?”

“Mmhmm. I imagine it’s easier for you to do business with the people in New Vecona when you use a name they’d be familiar with.”

“That’s… a way to put it. But it’s not a given name. It’s just my name.”

“...Hm? Then, you’re not Tanam?”

“Of course not. What made you think I was?”

Taldrie tried to keep a neutral face as the depths of her error hit her. “Euh, err, but you look and dress so differently.”

Bronagh let out a slow, patient sigh. “Yes, I do. But I’m not Tanam. I only live with them and work with them.”

“Then, where are you from, miss Bronagh? So I don’t make that embarrassing mistake again.”

Bronagh thrust a thumb behind her, over her shoulder. “I’m from there.”

Taldrie followed the gesture, her eyes coming to rest on the high walls of the colony. “You’re from the colony?”

“I am.”

“Then, you’re Ralbarnan?”

“Far as I know.”

Not Tanam, but Ralbarnan, yet she had never seen someone like her in the week she spent in the colony. The confusion was visible on the magister’s face, before dispelling. “Oh, you immigrated!”

The rider shrugged. “I suppose.”

The magister beamed with newfound excitement. “When did your family decide to make the trip? What made them decide this was the place they wanted to go to?”

“Don't know. I was too young to be a part of that conversation.”

“Well, I hope that everything's been to your liking for your family.”

“They passed away. Illness.”

The niceties stopped dead in Taldrie's throat. “I'm... I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” the rider said simply.

The cart went along with little else to say.

In the rising sun, the ocean had turned into a sparkling veil of gold, the sky a mix of orange and pink hues alight the blue. From the top of the distant hill, the whole length of the great walls could be seen, encircling the colony and its docks. Fields of farmland swayed in the breeze, a large patchwork quilt covering the land. There were a few distant specks left on the highways, farmers and herders continuing their work until the last moments of sunlight.

Taldrie had lived far in-land her entire life, near the capitol of Ralbarna, the crown city of Argalde. She was used to the sight of the city, its white walls glittering and painted by the sun, distant rivers like fine chains of jewelry. When she first disembarked, the ocean was a dreary experience. The ship’s constant rocking left her ill for most of the trip. The smell overpowered her nose and dulled its sense to anything else. The dried foods and alcohol barely stayed in her stomach long enough to nourish her.

The few times she left her cabin and went to the top deck were near the end of the ship’s journey, when she eventually acclimated to the sea. Seeing nothing but water in all directions was sobering. The shore of the old world approaching in the morning light, the end of the long trip nigh, she thought she understood how the great explorers felt.

But, seeing the shore from here, she felt this must be the reward so many seek when discovering new lands.

“To think you call such a beautiful place your home,” Taldrie said, finally breaking the silence. “I’m jealous. It’s the sort of sight that makes me wish I took up painting.”

“I suppose so.”

Hearing something in Bronagh’s voice, Taldrie turned forward. Her guide’s eyes kept to the road, warm light draping over fur-covered cold shoulders.

“Though, I suppose if you live here, you see this sight all the time. No point in being poetic about it every day.”

Bronagh was silent.

Taldrie’s eyes scrunched up. Having such quiet company wasn’t something she was used to. But then her eyes shot open. “Ahh! You asked me to keep quiet and I kept on going. Sorry, please just think of it as professional curiosity-”

“Shh.”

“...Did you just-”

“Shh!”

Pale cheeks turned flush. Life as a noble in the employ of the king of Ralbarna came with a few expectations. One was that someone of Taldrie’s station wasn’t shushed.

“Hold on, don’t you think that’s a bit rude?”

The reply Taldrie received was the snapping of the reins, the bull breaking into a run. The magister felt she would’ve tumbled over the back of the seat into the cargo behind her, had it not been for the rider’s deft arm catching her. She shrieked in surprise just the same.

“What in Oleath’s name was that for?!”

“Hold onto something and keep your head down!”

Before she could ask, a terrible roar cut through the air. Something large and black jumped out from a nearby treeline just ahead, and broke straight for the cart.

Its black fur flowed with its movements, legs as thick as tree trunks carrying its hulking body forward with no difficulty, claws gouging the ground and kicking up dirt. Its ears were short, and pinned back against its long head. The tusks snapped and gnashed, tail whipped back and forth.

She remembered the sketch she made of the dead one in town, trying to parse what it must have naturally looked like. To her, it was a taxidermist’s eerie idea of creative expression, or someone trying to pawn off their stuffed creation as a new discovery. The difference was the creature before her was alive, and charging at them.

A byrruk.

It launched itself forward when it came close enough. Bronagh cursed, tugging hard on the reins and forcing the bull off the path. Its teeth clacked together on nothing, and it slid its mass to find its footing.

As much as she tried to hold on, a bump in the terrain launched her up from her seat, and sent her hurtling backwards into the cargo. Her body banged against a crate, but she had something more pressing in mind. She scrambled after her pen and journal, stuffing them back into the pocket they had flown from. It was too important to lose like this. 

Behind her, she could hear the beast.

Despite the lost chance of the ambush, the beast still gave chase. She knew of wolves who would chase prey for miles in Ralbarna, in hopes of tiring their prey out and making for an easy meal. Something of the byrruk’s size surely couldn’t keep up with them at this pace.

The byrruk’s short and low lunges now lengthened, quickened.

“Miss Bronagh?” Taldrie squeaked. “It’s gaining!”

The rider looked behind her, and cursed again.

“What’re you going to do?”

“Me? I’ll need you to take the reins.”

“What? I’ve never driven anything before.”

“You know how to ride horses, right?”

The magister looked at her as if she had asked if the sky could turn green. “I’ve seen others drive carts with two horses, but never-”

“Well, two horses are not much different from one bull!” Bronagh reached one hand back and dragged the magister up to the seat.

“Agh, careful, my shoulder!”

“Worry about that when this is over. Just get Stiksal back on the road.”

“Whos Stiksal?”

“You’re driving him!” Bronagh clambered into the back while Taldrie hesitantly worked the reins, summoning up what little experience she could remember from her half-remembered lessons. She wondered how much overlap there was between horses and bovines.

“I’ll-- I’ll try. But won’t it catch up on us if we’re on a clear path?”

“It’ll catch up to us regardless. Stiksal is strong, but he won’t outrun it, especially not with all this,” Bronagh said as she threw a tarp to the side, rummaging through a box. “This way it’ll get to us faster.”

“What?! We have to go into the forest, then!”

“Eyes on the road! The wheels wouldn’t take it, we’d be stranded. Just keep to the road and trust me!”

The knot in her stomach didn’t loosen. Her eyes were wide as saucers plates, moving between the beast and the rider. 

Not far from them, the beast was furiously sprinting, single-minded in its goal.

In front of her, Bronagh looked calm, collected. How she could be unbothered in these circumstances, Taldrie had no idea. But it was a small reassurance.

It wasn’t nearly as much of a mess as Bronagh had expected. A few things had come loose from their straps, but nothing important. She dove for a nearby crate and threw off the lid, picking up what was inside.

The cart lurched once from the left, and then again on the right. The tourist had at least managed to get them back on track. Now came the difficult part.

The bull snorted. The hard sprint was starting to wear them out. No matter how hard Taldrie snapped the leather, Stiksal wouldn’t, couldn’t go any faster.

She didn’t have to look behind her to know how close the black beast was getting. She could hear its breath. Part of her imagined feeling it along the nape of her neck.

She snapped the reins and yelled the practiced command she was taught as a child to the bull once more, if only to trick herself into thinking she had any more she could do in this situation.

Some small spark in her mind had gone off. Was this how it was going to end? Her struggles, tenacity, and determination all leading up to this moment of being some monster’s dinner on a far-off continent?

The roar sounded once again. It was so close. She turned to look behind her. Maybe she could jump out of the way in that last moment.

There was the gnashing, and then a painful yelp.

She stared at the sight behind her.

The byrruk had leapt forward, tusks flashing in the waning sunlight, teeth waiting to bite into flesh.

A long metallic rod with a blade on its end dug into its cheek.

Bronagh planted her legs wide, hips twisting hard. Her level shoulders kept the swing steady, hands gripping the weapon tight. It rang as it flew over Taldrie’s head in the followthrough, who ducked well after it passed above her.

The byrruk lost its stride from the strike, tumbling and rolling along the dirt road. Bronagh beat the blunt end of her polearm against the wood of the cart below her feet, letting out a bellow in her momentary victory.

It was a strange weapon for a strange beast. It looked to be a bardiche, but its blade was thickened and flush against the haft of the pole, as if its inventor strapped a thick curved sword onto a spear after its head broke off. Just as the byrruk was, to her, an amalgam of creatures, the weapon in Bronagh’s hand was a cross between a spear and an axe.

“Dear Oleath above,” Taldrie said, shaken.

“Eyes,” Bronagh said to her. She walked closer to the end of the cart, undoing a strap from her forearm as she rested her weapon against her shoulder. She gathered up her hair, tying it back and taming it for the moment. She continued beating the cart steadily.

Spurred on from the taunts, the byrruk found its fury and its footing. New divots were dug into the path, body running close to the ground. Bronagh took a step back, crouched, fished around blindly in the box the rod came from. She roared at it, and it roared back in challenge. It was too angry to realize it was being baited.

“M-miss Bronagh?!”

“What is it now, ma’am?”

“We’re going to enter a mountain pass!”

Before them was the mountain range that separated the comparatively safe territory the colony resided in from the rest of the continent. High and difficult to scale, it was the one thing that allowed the colony to exist as it did. The true old world was just beyond, in a wide crevice where the mountains split in two.

“Good, finally. Now I can finally take care of this.”

“Shouldn’t you have taken care of this before now? There’s nowhere else for us to go.”

“Nowhere else for it to go, either. It would’ve gone back to the colony if we didn’t lure it, and I don’t think anyone there can handle it. Luckily, I’m here.” For the first time in the time Taldrie had known her, a smile came across Bronagh’s face as she pulled out what she had been fishing for.

The sun didn’t reach into the slowly bending pass, and shadows overtook them. The magister could only barely see the bull in front of her with what little light was still coming in above them.

There was a clank and grind. Light streamed from an object in Bronagh’s hand, a lantern. She hung it to a post just by the rider’s seat. It swung back and forth from the cart’s constant swaying.

The bull decided the sprint had gone long enough, and slowed back down to a trot. The byrruk caught up much faster than Bronagh anticipated. There wasn’t time to yell at her companion, or her bull. 

The byrruk leapt once more, gaining more height than before. Bronagh tensed, adjusted her arms, and swung for its head.

A foreleg sprang out quick as lightning, and raked out towards the rider. In a panic, she dropped to a knee to dodge, but didn’t make it unscathed. The tips of its long claws scraped along her arm, leaving clean slashes. The movement robbed Bronagh’s swing of both strength and accuracy, but it found a mark out of luck. With something this large, this close, it was difficult to miss. The point of the axe, formerly seeking to end it with a gouge to the neck, scraped into the byrruk’s eye.

Both combatants yelled, the beast landing halfway into the cart and sliding off as it thrashed from its destroyed sight. Bronagh fell against the covered cargo, and bounced upward from the new weight, a cacophany of wood and metal creaking and snapping. Taldrie let out a startled scream from the lurching, and screamed again when she saw how close the byrruk had gotten.

Wounded and confused, the byrruk could only voice its newfound frustration for the prey who fought back. A red trickle damped the fur of its cheek. The remaining eye watched as the cart disappeared around a bend in the mountain road.

Bronagh let out a hearty laugh, sitting herself up. The magister, still plenty of fear written on her face, glanced between the road before and the rider behind. “Is it over? Did you kill it?”

“I wish. It got lucky, but I’ll get it next time.”

“Oh god, your arm. Is that okay?”

Bronagh absently looked down to the three cuts on her bicep. “Oh, this? I've had much worse.” She reached for an edge of the cloth tarp that covered the cargo, slicing it into strips with a small knife from her belt. “I’ll clean it properly once we arrive. In the meantime, though.”

“What? What is it?”

The rider took back the reins of the cart, grinning. Before, while in the town and leaving it, her gaze looked disinterested, tired. There was now a twinkling of excitement to her eyes as she dressed the cuts. “I’m Bronagh, born here in New Vecona. Welcome to Nirhali.”


End file.
